


Cause and Effect

by KiwiKat_Writes



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Blood, Bullying, Dancing, Dog Vs Car, Dog did not do very well, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frontotemporal Dementia, Hinata is a slightly cheesy gay, Isolation, Kidnapping, Komaeda Nagito Needs Help, Komaeda Nagito Needs a Hug, M/M, Mental Illness, Murder, NOTHING XXX RATED IN THIS FIC T R U S T M E, Nagito is somft, Non-Consensual Bondage, Other, Please read tags-, Recovery, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Shooting, Shorter Komaeda Nagito, Suffering Komaeda Nagito, Suicide Attempt, essential oil, like one drop of fluff then BOOM ANGST, like there are literally no happy tags, lymphoma, my first Hard Angst story, nvm there are now happy tags, oops its gay, pls love my boi, whoopsie daisy an g s t, wow that sounds dark-, wow this is just cheery isn't it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25779421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiKat_Writes/pseuds/KiwiKat_Writes
Summary: Death had followed him from the start.**PLEASE READ THE TAGS. THIS IS A DARK STORY**
Relationships: Class 77 & Komaeda Nagito, Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 19
Kudos: 191





	1. Cause

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Blood  
> Non-consensual bondage  
> Self-harm  
> Mild Child Neglect  
> Medical Neglect  
> Bullying  
> Self-Hatred  
> Slight Victim Blaming (self)  
> Suicide Attempt   
> Stay safe, everyone!

It had started when he was born.

Ever since he was young, he had been called different. The way he would make noise in class, how he wasn’t sensitive to others, how he kept trying to eat things like paper and pencils and erasers. He didn’t understand the concept of friends, for he had had none. 

He would drift through days with no emotion sometimes, apathetically going through the motions, and other times he was filled with emotions that were too strong too _ strong _ and burst out through his actions and his mouth and drove the kids further away. That was when the bullying started.

He didn’t blame his peers for it. He went to a school for those with Talents, and good Talents. They would endlessly remind him that he was talentless, that he didn’t belong, that he should leave and never return. Over time, his view of the world warped and twisted and cracked until those cracks were almost all he could see, all he could feel. 

Talentless. Doesn’t belong. Freak. Weird. 

Then, before he entered middle school, his dog started acting weird. He would shy away from him, whimper and whine, and even bite and scratch. He didn’t tell his mother and father about the wounds, though. They were busy enough finding out what was wrong with his brain to care for his well-being.

Then the dog sprinted through the open door, leaving him to follow and call out in vain.

And right in front of him, he got his first taste of death.

His parents had run outside to find him kneeling on their lawn, staring unerringly at the sad sight on the road in front of him. An unnameable emotion had swelled within him, leaving him numb and feeling… broken. 

In his first year of middle school, he was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia. He had medicines, now; antipsychotics and antidepressants he had to take daily, the medicines making his parents look at him with sadness shame anger pain hurt harm apathy in their eyes. 

The next week, after school, found him trembling in the trunk of a small blue sedan, hands bound to the back of the trunk and legs tied with coarse rope. The rope dug into the skin of his legs, rubbing them raw and drawing blood to the surface, and his arms ached at the awkward position. He sobbed and cried and begged to be released, but his captor wouldn’t listen.

He was held in a basement, the man that took him leaving every night with weapons and returning every morning with the fresh stench of blood leaving him queasy. He learned that there was a bounty on his head, proposed to his parents and loved ones; 550,000 yen for their precious son back.

It never came.

At the end of the week, the man knocked him out. When his vision cleared, he was in front of his house with an army green jacket with an odd red symbol on it wrapped around him. A note pinned to it explained that the man (apparently a serial killer) had grown tired of his moods and actions, and that no money was being given. 

It hurt that his family wouldn’t pay for his life. That was the second time he had a brush with death.

When his mother saw him, she sobbed and hugged him tightly and whispered apologies and ‘i-love-you-so-much’es into his ear and everything felt okay once again, everything was warm and loving and like it had been.

He kept taking medication. His parents paid more attention to him, no longer looking at their son with a maelstrom of negativity in their eyes, replaced with hope and love. 

That was when he was first introduced to the world of  _ hope _ , and oh, was it glorious.

But then everything took a twist.

In his second year of middle school, he had fallen ill. His lymph nodes had swollen, sore and aching to the touch. His parents assured him that it was  _ just a cold, go to bed sweetie, you’ll wake up in the morning and be perfectly okay _ .

The next sign was a burning, stabbing stomach pain that left him writhing and twisting and gasping for air. That was when his parents took initiative and brought him to the doctor’s office. They had drawn blood, shone lights down his throat, felt the bumps on his neck which sent small rushes of pain through his body. 

The blood test had revealed worrying results, and he and his family were whisked away on an airplane to a hospital in another part of Japan, for further testing. When they were told he was getting taken away, he had grabbed at his parents and begged for them to bring that jacket he had gotten, a year ago. It was big, warm, and had become a kind of comfort, a security blanket for him. They complied, and soon enough he was swaddled in the jacket as he swung his feet back and forth, watching with detached interest as his toes brushed the airplane floor.

He was aware of his parents shooting concerned looks to each other over his head, talking in a mental language of emotion he’d never quite grasped. 

At the hospital, it was confirmed. He had lymphoma, a cancer. Given more pills, told to go to a local hospital for additional treatment. After his diagnosis, he stopped listening, feeling the doctor’s words wash over his brain like a droning, numbing rush. He was told he had an expected five or ten years to live, told that he should put together who got what items. His mother, ever the nurse, and his father, ever the pediatrician, had listened with stony faces.

On the plane back to home, something had happened at the front, where a man and a girl sat alone. The man called for help, his daughter was choking, can anyone on board help? And his parents, ever the helpful doctors, rushed to the front to check on the child, himself watching them with wide eyes.    
And then-

**_*bang* *bang*_ **

He watched as bullets sank into his parents’ heads, didn’t register his moving until he was screaming and pressing pale hands to the wounds weakly, as if to revert time and save his parents. Casting frantic hazel-grey eyes to the man, he cocked the gun again and pointed it straight at his forehead and  _ oh _ , this must be despair, he had fallen silent, eyes focused on the gunmetal grey barrel that would spit out his death-

“You… you’re the one I…” The man hadn’t pulled the trigger yet, staring at his jacket with something akin to fear in his eyes when the security guard came up from behind and knocked him over the head. Passengers cheered quietly, congratulating the guard for stopping him before he killed people, and he felt the world quiet around him.

They were glad their own lives were safe, disregarding the two dead people laying in the aisle, eyes blank and lips cold and skin pale-

He was screaming again, beating on his father’s chest and hoping praying asking begging for him to open his green eyes, chuckle, say everything was okay-

Screams echoed from around him, the passengers seemingly just realizing the scope of the situation. He was dragged away from his parents’ corpses, hands covered in rusting crimson and eyes wide and unfocused and his parents were covered in a sheet, more security guards swarming the murderer murderer  _ murderer _ and he was still screaming his throat raw and kicking and writhing and everything went  _ white- _

And thus was his third brush with death.

His aunt picked him up from the airport. She had been placed in charge of him, after the passing of his parents. 

He had some hope for living with her…

Until she took a look at his medications and proclaimed that he didn’t need drugs for his mental condition, throwing the pill bottles into the trash when he got moved in. She would proclaim boldly that ‘no nephew of hers is retarded’ and that ‘Komaeda is perfectly fine, he just loves the scent of essential oils!’ and that ‘he isn’t traumatized, he didn’t even see his parents die’. It was dragging him down, the sickly scent of essential oils winding like silken, smoky chains around his throat and into his lungs and drowning him in their whispers of freedom and thinly veiled truths of not helping at all.

She grudgingly allowed him his lymphoma medicine, but flat-out refused to get him extra treatment. He would go to school in the morning with aches and pains radiating from the swollen nodes on his neck and in his armpit, head pounding and pulsing in pain from sheer emotion on some days, pure apathy on others.

His school treated him just like how his elementary school had, just more imaginative and cruel in their words. 

Talentless. Doesn’t belong. Freak. Weird. Stepping stone. Useless. No one cares. Depressed. Boring. 

The second month after school started again, everything became too much too much _ toomuchtoomuch- _ and he had snuck a razor out of his aunt’s bathroom and started drawing methodical lines of crimson across his forearms, contrasting with the healed dog bites and pinpricks from where IVs had been stuck into him and needles had drawn blood and injected anaesthesia into his bloodstream. 

He watched garnet liquefied dripping off his arms, spilling from self-inflicted battle scars and carrying his negativity and pain and hurt and scars and  _ despair _ with them, and for the first time since his parents’ death felt hope.

The letter came on his first day of high school. His aunt had yelled for him and he had stalked down, bogged by unexplainable misery, before he read the contents of the letter. 

Almost instantly, his hopes perked. He was the Ultimate Lucky Student, chosen among the whole nation to attend Hope’s Peak Academy.

Suddenly, the irrational sadness drained away, replaced with a bright burning happiness he hadn’t felt in years. He had laughed and jumped and his aunt had laughed with him, both exclaiming happily and winding up panting in sheer joy on the floor of the kitchen, katsudon broth simmering on the stove and pork baking in the stove. He was sent to bed with an oh-so-rare hug, and fell asleep feeling that nothing could stop him.

The happiness was wiped away when he entered Hope’s Peak. The students were all Talented and oh-so-kind, to all except him. He had had a breakout in class a month in, playing drums on his desk and tapping his feet and snapping at whoever asked him anything, and since then people made a conscious effort to drift away from him. The only one who didn’t was a boy with cypress hair and grey eyes named Hinata Hajime, cool and composed and calm. They spent time together, and he found depths of happiness he hadn’t felt for so,  _ so _ long. The dorm system worked well, and he found himself with his first (and only, but he didn’t think about that) tentative friend.

He couldn’t tell anyone about his… conditions. How could he?

It had all come crashing down in a bad episode, where Sonia had a hand on his shoulder speaking softly and asking if he was okay and he was okay but then the anger started rising and shrouded his vision in b l a c k-

When he came back to himself, his room was absolutely trashed and Sonia was gone. 

He lived in fear the next week, seeing Sonia shoot him worried and fearful glances and Kazuichi sending him dirty glares. It came to a head when she cornered him, demanding to know what was wrong, and the whole unaltered truth came rushing out of him like a dam overflowing with water and he watched as her face twisted in sympathy _horror_ compassion _disgust_ **_p a i n-_**

She left him with a mildly disturbed look on her face, and now Nekomaru had joined in the glaring. 

The next week was calm… ish. Someone would come by and rattle his doorknob, always in the dead of night. It would wake him up, sending shocks of fear through his system, but it never went past that. A simple scare tactic, made to scare him.

It stopped working three days in.

~~~

He sighed, tossing his backpack to the side and letting himself plop onto his bed. He stayed in his clothes, not bothering to change into nightclothes. Sonia had tried to talk to him again yesterday, but every time she got close Kazuichi would usher her away and Nekomaru shouldered himself between the two. At that, the anger slowly bubbling beneath the surface had boiled over and he had watched his vision go blank, could feel his body moving, but just couldn’t  _ care _ .

When the school had him take a couple pills (an emergency stash they kept) he had calmed down, and tried to apologize. It was futile. Everyone in the class knew, and everyone in the class had started isolating him.

Even Hinata. He had lost hurt driven away his one and only friend.

And that… that ****ing  _ hurt _ .

Groaning, he rolled onto his back, pressing his palms into his eyes and hissing at the faint burst of pressure. 

No. It wasn’t working.

Sending a longing glance at the bathroom, where his razor was kept, he forced himself to look away. After yesterday’s fiasco, he had almost gone too deep and he didn’t want to lose too much blood. Even if he was just a stepping stone, he didn’t want anyone to find his dead body. It would traumatize them and set them off track, and... he couldn't do that to them. Not yet.

Feeling the world drift into cool greyness, he ignored the frantic buzzing of his doorbell and the pounding on his door.

They didn’t want to talk to him while he was out of his room, they didn’t get to talk to him while he was inside his dorm and hiding away. 

Sometimes… no. 

He hated his brain, he hated himself, his stupid too-tight skin and the paleness of it and his wild untameable hair and his stupid hazel-grey eyes and how skinny he was and the pain and the  _ stupid lymphoma _ and his  **_stupid dementia_ ** -

He drifted to sleep, mind going a blessed blank as he sank into the dark abyss.

~~~

A hand grabbed his wrist, another hand grabbed his hair and wrenched him out of bed-

He yelped in fright surprise pain and scrambled to get back to the mattress-

Huge hands held him in place against the side of the mattress and forced his arms out to the side in a T position-

Rope looped around his right wrist, then his left, anchoring them-

The same material was twisted tightly against his flailing shins, forcing them together, and then he wasn’t in the dorm he was in that dark trunk and in middle school again and sobbing and screaming for help-

A hand slipped something out of his pocket before all touch left him-

The door clicked shut and made the noise it makes as it locks as he cried and curled up as well as he could, burying his face into his knees-

Leaving him alone, tied in his room, with no one to hear his pleas and choked sobs and begs of mercy, no one to save him.

~~~

Day one passed in a haze, him only knowing the passage of time by the sunlight streaming through the window. He tugged at the ropes at his wrist, hissing when the rope dug tightly into his tender, scarred skin.

He would have vocalized his pain, if he hadn’t already screamed himself hoarse in a frantic bid for help the night before. 

A glint of something entered his vision, drawing his attention. He stared at the innocuous pocket knife sitting on the floor, recognizing its pattern.

It was the one that Kazuichi would carry around with him, to tinker with things if they needed tinkering.

His gaze funneled in on the knife until it was his whole world, thinking starting to tumble through his brain.

They tied him in the middle of the night, when he couldn’t fight back. They thought he was a danger, most likely. They had tied him in a way that he couldn’t eat or drink, leading to death in five days at the latest. If he could just get that knife…

He refused to die on someone else’s terms. They had taken his key and locked him in, he would die anyways. If he was going to, he wanted to die on his own terms.

If he died because of them, they’d get charged for manslaughter and it would hurt their careers. If he died because of himself, no one would care. He’d driven everyone away, no one would mourn him. No one would mourn him like they had his mother, and father, and dog.

That’s that, then. He cuts himself free, then cuts his life away.

It made sense.

~~~

It took him almost the whole night to get the knife to him. He had stretched so far forward, and the blood running down his wrists was a testament to the rope keeping him stuck. But the knife was with him now, so…

How does he get it to his hand? 

That was a whole other issue.

Crud.

~~~

After a  _ lot _ of awkward twisting and more blood, he was using his knee to scooch the knife up the side of the bed toward his left hand, straining his fingers down to get it. They ached, but he couldn’t stop. Not until he’d fulfilled his goal.

And finally,  _ finally _ he felt the smooth handle of the knife on his fingertips. 

He could have sobbed in happiness when the means to his freedom (in more ways than one) was in his grasp.

Finally, he could be free. Free from his body his skin his brain his emotions his  _ everything _ .

~~~   


It took a lot of sawing at the rope, but his left arm was free. 

At this point, he didn’t know who to thank for that. 

Flexing his wrist, hissing at the pain, he leaned over and started working on the right hand.

He paused, thinking.

He only needed one hand to plunge a blade into a chest, only one to take his own life.

But…

He couldn’t leave the others to blame themselves. They were the world’s hope, they can’t feel despair. He had to explain his actions, had to tell them the whole story.

He had to write a note.

So he started sawing away again, focused on his task.

~~~

His legs were the easiest to free. And now, standing in front of his desk, he had a piece of paper and a dark blue pen, ready to write his note. His eyesight and mind blurred as he wrote, not quite knowing what he was putting down, before he folded it haphazardly into fourths and shoved it under the door. 

It was time.

Turning his back to the door, he flicked the saw blade in and slowly pulled out the long, razor-sharp standard blade. Positioning it at his chest, right over his heart, he took one soon-to-be-gone heartbeat to just breathe.

One. 

The doorknob rattled, and someone pounded on the door. There might have been yelling, he couldn't tell.

Two.

The door trembled and shook, like someone was trying to pound it in. The voices were a little clearer, a little louder- were they screaming a name?

Three.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in and out again. The lock clicked, and the door blew open just as he pushed the knife away to gain momentum-

**_“ KOMAEDA!”_ **


	2. Effect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Stab, self-injury, self-hatred

Hinata turned his head and looked down the hallway for the thousandth time, worry curdling in his gut. 

He wouldn’t lie, he had been distant from Komaeda for the last couple of days. Ever since watching his outburst at lunch, he had been wary around the marshmallow-haired teen. He didn’t know if the worry was unfounded or not, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the time they spent together, and the thought of that raw, breathtaking anger turned onto him made his breath catch in his throat. 

He couldn’t tell if it was from fear or something else entirely. He couldn’t tell if he wanted that anger trained on him just because, or if he wanted to dispel it and control it with a firm hand and commanding voice. And that lack of knowledge shook him to his core.

The point was, Sonia had sat them all down last night, and had proceeded to rip into them in her awkwardly accented way. She had told them that she couldn’t tell them what was going on with Komaeda, that that was his secret alone, but she told them that he wasn’t in control of his own actions all the time. The violent mood swings, fidgeting and making noise in class, the times he'd be apathetic and completely numb to the world. The way he’d wince in the middle of class and start massaging around one of the lumps on his throat.

From what she said, he had put together that Komaeda had some sort of mental illness. It wouldn’t surprise him, but if he was why wasn’t he on medication? 

Well, he’d ask that when Komaeda finally left his room.

That’s what he was looking for, anyways.

Komaeda had locked himself into his room, and he wasn’t letting anyone in. No sign he even existed.

It was honestly getting worrying. He hadn’t seen Komaeda at meals, in class, the bathroom, nowhere. He hadn’t even seen him leave his room to go to the sauna, a little thing of his he’d started. Even he had to eat sometime, right?

The other odd thing was that before they found out Komaeda locked himself in, Kazuichi and Nekomaru had looked oddly satisfied with themselves. He didn’t know if the two things were connected, or if he wanted them to be connected. 

“Hey, Hinata!” He turned to see Kazuichi next to him, pink hair covered by his beanie as always.

“Hey, Kazuichi.” Kazuichi glanced down the hallway, pursing his lips.

“Uh, whatcha looking for?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if Komaeda’s eaten anything. He hasn’t left his room for a while.” He watched Kazuichi out of the corner of his eye, which means he saw the exact moment the pinkette stiffened. 

So Kazuichi did have something to do with it. 

“Uh- well- I can’t say anything, but… I’m pretty sure he might have eaten?” His voice was _loaded_ with anxiety and nerves, but Hinata showed no signs of acknowledging it.

“If you’re sure. Why don’t we go ask?” He looked back down the hallway, and that’s the only reason he saw it.

A folded piece of paper, shoved out from the crack of Komaeda’s door. Next to him, Kazuichi paled and swallowed at the sight.

Raising an eyebrow, he strode forward and picked up the paper. Unfolding it, he started reading the content, eyes scanning the royal blue writing. 

The paper fluttered from his grasp before he realized it, eyes wide and hands frozen.

“Uh- Hinata? You good?” Hinata blinked, before reaching out and trying the doorknob. 

Locked.

“Hinata?”

“Get a teacher, we have to get into his room now.” He kept rattling the doorknob, tugging on it. His movements were becoming quicker, more frantic.

“Dude, what was on the paper?” He turned and looked at Kazuichi, pressing the doorknob insistently.

“A suicide note.”

Almost instantly, Kazuichi froze. Hinata growled in frustration, switching from the doorknob and doorbell to pounding on the door.

“Komaeda! Komaeda, let us in!” The door across the hall opened, and Akane peeked out.

“Bro, what’s happening out here?” He faintly heard Kazuichi answer her question, focused solely on trying to get into Komaeda’s room.   
A hand reached his shoulder and he was shoved out of the way, Nekomaru replacing him. He threw his shoulder into the door, the wood creaking ominously.

“Wait!” And Kazuichi was there, fumbling something out of his pocket, and then the door was opening-

Hinata didn’t even wait, pushing past and into the room, eyes locked on Komaeda’s back.

“KOMAEDA!” He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Komaeda, pulling him backwards-

A sickening **_‘shhnk’_ ** noise echoed through the room, and he felt his blood freeze.

In his arms was Komaeda, awareness dimming in his eyes, bloody wrists, and a knife buried in his chest. 

Hinata went on autopilot at that point. Komaeda was slowly put onto the floor and he ripped his shoes and socks off, using the fabric to press around the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Someone entered the room, someone screamed, and people were yelling.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Call 119, now!”

“Someone get Ms. Usami!”

“Komaeda?!?”

“What happened?”

“Oh my gosh, why is there so much blood!?!?” 

“I-I’ll wait outside for the ambulance!” He ignored the exclamations, pressing down tighter on the stab. He had to stop the bleeding, hopefully before Komaeda lost too much blood and…

_Stop. Don’t think like that._

A whispered sentence from the marshmallow-haired teen caught his attention, and he stared down at the teen. Blood was bubbling on his lips, but his lips were moving and tiny noises were eking out of his throat. He felt his breath catch in his throat, and leaned down a little.

“Komaeda?”

Komaeda whispered something, but he couldn’t hear exactly what. Dull hazel-grey eyes gained a sheen of regret? pain? He couldn’t exactly tell which. Leaning down until he was closer to the teen, he listened closely.

“Komaeda, I can’t hear you…” Komeada coughed wetly, a drip of blood rolling down his chin, before he spoke again. This time, he could hear it.

“I’m… so-sorry…” His eyes slipped closed, and Hinata felt panic swamp him.

“K-Komaeda! No, don’t close your eyes! The ambulance is coming, just breathe, okay? You’ll be fine. You’re not going to die!” His breathing was slowing down- the pulse of the wound under his fingers and blood-soaked socks slowly but steadily becoming less and less there.

Sirens screamed through the air outside the school, and anyone who wasn’t in the hallway were drawn out of their rooms at the high-pitched noise.

“They’re in here, third dorm on the right!” Hinata kept his eyes fixated on Komaeda’s paling face, kept his hands firmly against the wound until the paramedics swarmed the room and forced him back.

He watched in a daze, Komaeda’s lifeblood on his hands and a haze over his mind as Komaeda was lifted onto a stretcher and carted out of the room. There were more screams of fear as anyone who didn’t know what was going on saw the stretcher’s occupant. His eyes roved over the room, trying to find _something_ to explain just what had happened.

His eyes landed on a pile of shredded rope with rusty scarlet decorating it, and something in his mind connected. Looking up at the bed, he saw twin marks of blood smudged across the bed’s posts, about where someone’s arms would be if they sat down and stretched their arms to the posts. 

Before he really recognized his moving, he was gathering up the rope and looking over it. It was thick, rough, and the type of rope you’d find in the building workshop.

Where Kazuichi would have easy access to it. 

And he’d had Komaeda’s key, which he shouldn’t…

“Hinata?” Kazuichi’s voice rang out from behind him, and his fists clenched around the rope. Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself up, ignoring the students looking into the room. 

“Hinata, dude… you doing okay?” 

He had never punched someone as hard as he’d clocked Kazuichi across the face.

The pinkette stumbled backwards, hands going up to clutch at his cheek, dropping the key that had been hidden in his hand with a soft tinkle onto the carpet. Flexing his fingers, Hinata bent down and picked Komaeda’s room key up, brandishing it for everyone watching in shock to see.

“Kazuichi, why do you have Komaeda’s room key when he supposedly locked himself in?” The Ultimate Mechanic paled, the only color in his face the angry red mark where Hinata’s fist had landed.

“...Kazuichi?” He whipped around to see Sonia staring at them, tears in her wide blue-grey eyes. She was holding a piece of the fraying rope, twisting it between delicate hands.

“Is this not the rope I saw you carrying a couple days ago?” Akane burst out in a question, anger rolling off her like waves.

“Hold the frick up! Are you saying that Kazuichi locked Komaeda into his room? And tied him up or something so he couldn’t leave?” Hinata raised an eyebrow, appraising the shaking teen in the center of the room.

“Let’s not forget the fact that nobody’s seen you using your pocket knife for anything, and the fact that Komaeda doesn’t own anything like a knife.” Kazuichi sputtered, before pointing an accusing finger at him.

“H-hey, what the- You were scared of him too! The way he creeps us all out! You’ve seen him and his crazy mood swings- he’s ****ing insane! I was going to keep us all safe!” Hinata simply raised his other eyebrow, ignoring the stab of guilt that came when he realized his own isolation of the teen might have very well led to this attempt. 

“Kazuichi, you tied him to the bed, He could barely use his hands, and could only use his legs a little more. Even if he got free, you had his key and you had locked him in. And I’m assuming you didn’t want to enter the room… so how did he eat or drink?” Kazuichi swallowed again, before whipping around and pointing at Nekomaru.

“I-I wasn’t the only one! Nekomaru agreed- he said it was the best move!” Hinata let his eyes flash with anger, crowding into his space. He towered four inches over the mechanic, and used every inch to his advantage.

“If you hadn’t told him that you were planning it, he wouldn’t have even thought about it. You weren’t feeding him, or getting him water- if Komaeda hadn’t tried to kill himself, he would have died in five days at the latest. His death would be on your hands.” A gasp, and Chiaki spoke up with a wavering voice.

“D-do you think that might be why he- why he did it?” Hinata considered that, swallowing.

It was-

“I-I don’t know if anyone else’s heard it, but… sometimes in class he’ll mutter really softly about how he’s just- just a stepping stone to us, and he’s only good for keeping us afloat… if he died because someone tied him up that person would go to jail because of manslaughter. If he died because he stabbed- stabbed himself…” Her voice went quieter at the end, but Hinata hated how it made everything clear.

A tense silence fell across the group, before Fuyuhiko broke it. He turned and slammed a punch into the wall.

“THAT [Content Removed to Conform With Personal Beliefs and Ease of Reading]! I oughta [Extreme Violence and Threats Removed]!” Kazuichi had gone a light grey in horror, Nekomaru was shivering and stammering apologies, and even Hinata shuddered at the threats being made. Teruteru spoke up in his country accent, having ditched the fancy accent a little while ago.

“W-Why d'ya think that Komaeda thought that about us? It’s not like we really… hurt him, right?” 

“Actually, Teruteru, I believe I spoke on this already. With Komaeda currently… in the balance, I think you should know.' Sonia spoke up, and- oh.

The foreign teen was _angry_. 

Yet, she kept her composure as she gestured for everyone in the hallway to come into the room.

Soon enough, there were 14 slightly cramped teens staring down Sonia, waiting for the explanation.

“Komaeda’s only had one friend pretty much his whole life, and that was you, Hinata. He was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia in his first year of middle school, lymphoma last year, I think? He was told he only had 5 years to live, 4 now, and he was fully prepared to die before he graduated high school. His aunt took his dementia medication and he’s only barely allowed to take lymphoma medicine, and he hasn’t gotten treatment for it.” Hinata felt his world freeze.

Komaeda was living on a tight timeline, had cancer, and he had dementia that was going un-medicated, and instead of asking why he was acting off, they had tied him up and withheld food from him (even if the last one was accidental).

It left him wondering just how much they had messed up in ways they might not even know.

  
  
  


A softly pounding pain in his chest roused him, and he let his eyebrows furrow. The chest was new, lymphoma symptoms hadn’t hit him there yet.

His whole body was heavy dragged down immobile, and he took a moment to wonder why he couldn’t move. Sleep paralysis?

Wait- no, he might be able to move a finger. 

The effort felt monumental, but he managed to barely move his pinky finger.

There was a soft gasp, and then… voices.

“D-did he just… move?”

“I… I think so? Komaeda, can you hear us? Could you move your finger again?” 

Why was it such a big deal for him to move? But… if they wanted him to move, why shouldn’t he?

Mentally focusing on his hand, he tried to move his fingers. This time, it was a little easier and he managed to curl a couple into a loose fist-like thing.

“O-oh my gosh… he’s awake!” 

“Chiaki, could you call Ms. Usami? She’ll want to see him…”

“Oh- of course!” Footsteps, and a door sliding shut. He didn’t focus on the noise, instead pressing his effort into prying his eyelids open.

Okay, no, bad idea bad idea _bad idea-_

His mind shrieked at the pure white that invaded his vision, and a moan of pain ripped its way out of his throat before he could stop it. A yelp of surprise from next to him, and the now-familiar voice filtered through the throbbing in his head.  
“Oh my gosh, sorry!” The blinding lights from beyond the dark world of his eyelids dimmed, and he gently edged one eye open again.

Ah. That was better.

Blinking both eyes open, he cast his gaze to the side and saw-

“Are you doing okay?” Two warm hands covered his pale bandage-wrapped one, and he just blinked, staring at the teen next to him.

Hajime Hinata looked into his eyes with concern clear in those hazel-green eyes, tan hands carefully clutching his own.

He opened his mouth and a raspy, painful voice eked out, but no words could be heard. Hinata leaned forward and gently grabbed his face in both hands, bringing their faces closer together. Almost against his will he felt a flush invade his cheeks, something stirring in his chest. It was… light? Floaty?  
He’d never quite felt anything like this.

What… what was it?

  
  


Hinata was screaming at himself.

Why did he have to do that? 

Now he was almost nose-to-nose with the marshmallow-haired teen, cupping his cheeks, and he was noticing things he hadn’t before.  
The way delicate eyelashes framed Komaeda’s eyes, the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, how his grey-green eyes had a ring of pale blue around the iris and a desaturated emerald around the pupils. He noticed how he looked so much better with some red in his cheeks, the color suiting him well. The way his li-

Nope. No, no, he was _not_ going to go there. This was awkward enough already.

He let Komaeda gently sink back to the pillow, watching him blink dazedly, and snapped finger guns awkwardly at him.

“Okay, I’ll go get some ice chips for your throat! I’m sure you could use those!” He couldn’t stop the flush rising to his face as he turned around, busying himself with the ice machine. The internal screaming had gotten louder, and he took a couple deep breaths to calm himself down before facing the teen on the bed again. Holding the little paper cup with a cool blue and purple logo on the side out, he was about to give it to Komaeda when he saw how his hands and arms shook. Pausing, he looks at the cup, then at the teen.

“Oh- uh, you can’t… hold a cup very well, can you?” Komaeda paused, as if thinking, and gently shook his head ‘no’. Hinata nodded, pursing his lips, before what would have to happen sunk in on him.

It was all he could do to keep his cheeks from going bright red as he warned Komaeda and raised the cup to his lips, gently tilting it and pouring a few ice chips into his mouth. 

Komaeda hummed at the surprise, before crunching a few chips between his teeth and lightly swallowing. Hinata pulled it away slowly, letting Komaeda swallow a couple of times to try and talk.  
“H-Hinata?” It was raspy, but it was there. And oh-

Oh…

How hadn’t he heard this before?

Even through the rasping, his voice was soft and melodic, and he could probably listen to Komaeda talk for hours on end. Blinking to himself, he wondered where that came from. He’d heard it, but he’d never heard the melody under the words, the silent music carrying the syllables forward.

He wondered how he’d never heard this before.

“W-what… why…?” Ignoring his impending crisis, because _that could wait goshdangit_ , he just raised an eyebrow.

“‘Why’ what, Komaeda?” 

“Why- why… why did you save me?” 

  
  
  


Akane wasn’t stupid. 

She knew others thought of her as a food-loving, flexible, busty ditz with a penchant for violence and being a spaz. She knew about the looks and lecherous winks from sleazy upperclassmen, she knew that she was considered a prize in the darkest segment of Hope’s Peak Academy. Above all, she knew how to use her surroundings to her own advantage.

She was quick, smart, and resourceful. In gymnastics, she had to be quick on the draw and know what to do to tie together a routine in that ‘ _just-so_ ’ way that gymnastic teachers and online viewers alike praised almost endlessly. She had to work with what she had and observe every immaculate detail in her environment in case she had to use any of those to her advantage. 

But… 

How had she missed it?

Komaeda hadn’t been subtle about himself. His crazy mood swings, especially with the lack of medication, should have been enough for her to know what it was. Her youngest brother had Down syndrome, and his meltdowns were a lot like when Komaeda had especially violent mood swings.

She had seen the signs, had everything to observe there at her beautifully and perfectly manicured fingertips and she _hadn’t_ put it together when it truly mattered.   
If she could, she’d exchange winning the nationals a couple weeks ago for the chance to know what was wrong with Komaeda and _help him_.

She had seen the signs.

So why hadn’t she acted?

  
  


Fuyuhiko slammed his fist into the wall again, not caring about the dull ache radiating from his knuckles. How could he care?!? He had to admit, he barely cared for Komaeda, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to take a leap off of the mortal coil! Why did he think he had to ****ing stab himself?

Right. Locked in room, tied to bed, no food or water, might have died anyways.

Another punch shook his arm to the shoulder.

Even the yakuza didn’t treat prisoners as Komaeda had been treated. They were fed, and watered, and closely monitored.

The yakuza were ruthless in their punishment, but accommodating to their guests. 

And Komaeda had had freedom ripped from him in every sense possible, able to scream with no one listening, barely able to move, hungry, thirsty-

This time the punch glanced off something and hit the wall wrong, sending a sharp spike of pain through his arm. Swearing in surprise and shock, he cradled his injured wrist (a simple twist, will heal by tomorrow-) to himself, baring his teeth and glaring at the stupid wall. 

He had to be observant. He had to know what was happening in every shady corner of his underworld, had to know every movement of his family, had to know the debts owed and the debts due and who hadn’t paid.

He took so much in about his classmates daily, knew every bet made and every secret whispered between close friends.

How had he missed this?

  
  


Hinata blinked, feeling every little part of his heart shatter and drop to his stomach.

“W… w-what?” Komaeda looked up at him through long lashes, and the pure unbroken _pain_ in them ripped into his soul.

“Why did you save me?” Hinata took up one of Komaeda’s hands, grasping it tightly.

“Komaeda… why wouldn’t I save you?” Komaeda just blinked at him, lips parted as surprise bloomed across his face. Tilting his head down, he looked at his bedsheet as he spoke the next words.

“No one else ever wants to help me, so… so why did you?” Swallowing, Hinata leaned forward a little bit. The stab of sadness and anger that shot through him at that was deep and cold, but he didn’t shy away from the freezing. 

“Why not?” At that, Komaeda’s whole posture stiffened, and when he spoke it was… different.

“B-Because I’m talentless, and talentless trash like me doesn’t deserve help.” His voice wasn’t exactly harsh, but it had an edge to it. Hinata furrowed his eyebrows, the shift in tone not settling with him at first, before he realized what it must be.

“Komaeda… who-” He was cut off, Komaeda uttering words like they’d been carved into his brain.

“Talentless. Doesn’t belong. Freak. Weird. Stepping stone. Useless. No one cares. Depressed. Boring. They said only trash is like that, and if I’m like that, I’m trash.” A lump rose to Hinata’s throat, and he swallowed before speaking again. He…

He had to fix this.

“Komaeda…” He cupped his face again, gently, and tilted it up until they were looking into each other’s eyes again. Something had shifted in the pit of those hazel-grey pools, something out of place. 

“Listen to me. You aren’t trash, okay?” At that Komaeda tried to wrench his face away again, and he held on a little tighter. He could see tears forming in his eyes, but he didn’t let Komaeda turn away. He had to know he was telling the truth.

“Look at me, and listen closely, okay?” The thing in Komaeda’s eyes had shifted again, and he could now see the deep, wide cracks that had been covered by a fake smile and thin veneer of confidence. 

“You are not trash.” Komaeda jerked at that, as if he had never heard that before. Ignoring the movement, Hinata pressed on.

“You are _not_ trash, Komaeda. You’re the smartest person in the class. You’re the Ultimate Lucky Student. You made it into Hope’s Peak Academy, with the best of the best. If you’re attending with the best, why do you assume you’re not the best either? You won that lottery out of _everyone_ _in Japan_. You are the luckiest student in our year. You’re going up to bat with people like Ibuki and Teruteru, who have a name for themselves, and you’re holding your own. You’re strong, Komaeda. How can you be trash when you’re a diamond?” The marshmallow-haired teen stared at him, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. This was the most open, the most vulnerable he’d ever seen Komaeda. Komaeda was laying his heart out on his sleeve for Hinata to see, and that was a sign of trust Hinata wasn’t quite sure he had earned. 

He ducked his head, forehead colliding with his shoulder, and Hinata froze as shaky arms wrapped tightly around him. 

He looked down at the shaking teen currently crying on his shoulder, before gently wrapping his arms around Komaeda’s back. Shifting around a bit so he was perched on the bed next to Komaeda, he leaned back a little so his side rested on the headrest of the bed. Komaeda just cried into his shirt, fingers tightly scrunching the shirt across his back, and Hinata gently drew one hand up and cupped the back of the teen’s neck. 

“I’m here, Komaeda… I’m here.” 

  
  
  


Chiaki knocked on the door gently, but frowned when she got no response.

The call to Ms. Usami had taken a long time, especially after Ibuki had overheard the call.

Her resulting shriek of ‘KOMAEDA’S AWAKE?’ had alerted everyone else to the call, and the resulting pandemonium had taken 10 minutes to calm down sufficiently.

But now everyone was packed into Ms. Usami’s ‘mom minivan’ and on the way to the hospital, but neither Komaeda or Hinata were answering the door. 

Gently clicked the door open, she peeked inside.

“Guys..-” Whatever she was going to say petered off at the sight she walked in on. 

Hinata had moved onto the bed, face relaxed. Komaeda had shifted considerably, arms now tightly wrapped around Hinata and face buried in the brown-haired teen’s neck. Both of them were breathing softly.

_Asleep._

As she watched, Hinata let a tiny murmur out and buried his nose into Komaeda’s hair, and she repressed a squeal as she closed the door again.

Before it completely closed, she froze.

Sneaking her phone out, she put it on silent and snapped several pictures of the two.

Sending the best one to Ms. Usami’s phone, she gently shut the door and walked down the hall, finding a nurse.

  
  
  


He felt himself drift to awakening, a warm scent drawing him to the waking world. It smelled a little like butterscotch, and he gently pushed his head a little further into the source of the scent. 

Muffled giggles erupted from around, and the thing vibrated as someone spoke.

“Shut up, he’s asleep.” Humming a little, he wriggled a little closer to the darkness and let himself drift away again, carried by the sweet smell of butterscotch.

  
  


Hinata felt his cheeks blaze red as Komaeda nuzzled into his neck, murmuring something against his skin. Chiaki was still giggling, where Mahiru was barely containing her own giggles. Rolling his eyes and scoffing, he turned his attention back to the sleeping teen on his lap. Staring at the fluffy hair, he gently moved the hand on Komaeda’s neck up until it was buried in his hair, and he blinked. It was surprisingly soft, considering he hadn’t washed it in a while. Almost unbidden, the thought of his parents’ reactions to this flit to the front of his mind.

His mom was a hairstyler, and his mother was a nail tech. He knew that Mom would have a conniption over Komaeda’s hair, most likely try ten million different products on it to see how they worked with his natural hair. Coconut oil would probably send her into a coma with how well it worked to soften hair. Mum would probably give him a hand massage as he got his hair done, and the thought of seeing Komaeda truly relaxed brought a brighter flush to his cheeks.

“Aww, Hinata’s having a crisis!”

“*sniff* They grow up so fast!” 

“Hinata, Hinata, how is his hair?” He responded without thinking.

“It’s really soft…” Giggles renewed throughout the room, the atmosphere light and happy despite why they were here. 

~~~  
  


“Guys, get it together! We have to get this perfect!” Mahiru clapped her hands, calling out to her classmates. A general call of assent from the people setting up, decorating the area, and Hinata felt a soft smile stretch across his face.

Nagito had been in the hospital for psych evaluation, treatment of the stab and lymphoma, and a few therapy sessions for about two and a half months now. During those two months Hinata had spent a ton of time with him, even taking their classes over Zoom together. Once he was taking medication for everything daily, like he should have been, he improved quickly. Hinata was proud of him for being strong. They had certainly gotten closer together, which didn’t help his… crush.

For the last two weeks, the rest of Class 77 had been taken on a trip to the famous Jabberwock Island. The island had no one else on it, which he had no clue why considering its popularity, but whatever. The point was, Nagito had been released after a good two months in the hospital, and should be arriving by plane in at least an hour, maybe two.

After they heard Nagito’s whole story, almost the whole class had changed their opinion of Nagito. Now that they understood why he acted the way he did, they were a lot warmer when the topic of him came up in conversation and several had even worked together to put together a mental wellness package for him back in Hope’s Peak. 

Hajime shifted his focus back to the table he was helping Teruteru set up, American home-style food and traditional Japanese food covering it. They were throwing a party for Nagito’s arrival in a newly-renovated building, but it hadn’t gone without hiccups.

Teruteru and Nekomaru had argued for a day solid about what foods to include, and Akane had almost fist-fought Hiyoko when she kept snobbing the decorations that the gymnast had put together. 

But Mahiru had stepped up and smacked them all back into shape (some literally…) and now it was well underway. Ibuki apparently knew how to mix _master_ non-alcoholic drinks, and she would test them with the workers.

Speaking of…

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyy, Hinata! Try this one!” A neon green mixture was shoved into his mouth, and he contemplated the flavor. It was lemon-limey, with a hint of orange and- was that apple? Despite the weird flavor combo, it tasted good, and he told her so.

“Well, I’d _hope_ so! That one is Sprite, Mountain Dew, a tiny hint of clear Fanta, aaaaaaaaand some green apple Gatorade!” Hinata blinked. He hadn’t even known that clear Fanta existed. She pranced off to make more Frankenstein drinks, but before she could get too far away, he reached out and tapped her shoulder. 

“Hey, Ibuki… can I ask a favor?”

“Hm? What is it?” 

“Could you make something with ginger ale in it? That’s Nagito’s favorite soda.”

“Uh, _yeah,_ of course! That’ll be child’s play for the _fa-bu-lous_ Ibuki~! Ta-ta, Hinata!” She winked at him before flouncing away again.

He turned back to the table, snipping the sharp tips off of a few wooden skewers he had missed.

That was a requirement of the party. They were minimizing the amount of items that could be used to hurt oneself, and part of that was fixing the kebabs after Teruteru put them together. Hinata was cutting the sharp edges off after the food was on the skewers, Gundham and his ‘Four Dark Devas of Destruction’ (i.e. hamsters) were currently taking all the plastic caps from the soda bottles and disposing of them, and Togami was making sure that anything that could be fashioned into a makeshift weapon and/or brittle plastic was removed from the party. 

“OI, HE’S AT THE AIRPORT!” Fuyuhiko hollered from the front door, and everyone froze.

It had only been like 30 minutes.

Almost everyone snapped into double-time, quickly getting the finishing touches on the party. It was bright, festive, and happy.

Hinata stepped outside, stretching a little. He’d been designated as the one to escort Nagito to the party after a long, _long_ conversation filled with blushing and teasing remarks. 

Starting to stroll in the direction of the airport, he contemplated his emotions towards Nagito.

When he had noticed those things in the hospital, he’d been startled at himself. But now, after seeking guidance from his moms and Chiaki, he knew what it was. And it had cultivated in those two months he’d spent with Nagito.

Speaking of Nagito...

“Hajime!” Almost instantly, his world felt a little brighter.

Nagito was walking down the path towards him, a bag that matched his iconic jacket slung over his shoulder and a weird two-toned teddy bear hugged in his arms. It made him look younger than he was, and the sight almost made Hinata snort.

“Hey, Nagito.” As he got closer the white-haired teen held up his teddy, showing that the white side was normal, but the black side had a weird spiky red eye and wide, toothy grin on it.

“Look at this! Someone in the mental hospital gave him to me! She said his name was Monokuma, and he’s really soft and huggable!” Ignoring how the eye winked menacingly, Hinata just smiled at Nagito, who had reached into his pack and was rooting around in it.

“Aaaand this one is named Monomi! She’s Monokuma’s little sister!” It was a half-pink and half-white rabbit with pink wings, a friendly smile, and a little magical girl wand in her paw. She was a little smaller, but he supposed that’s why she was able to fit in his bag so easily. Smiling at the teen, he turned and gestured, starting to walk.

“Come on- the others are waiting for us.” Nagito yelped in surprise, shoving Monomi back into his bag and jogging a little to catch up with him. 

  
  


“Aaaaaaaaaall riiiiight! We’re doing a slow dance now, peeps! Partner up with whoever’s on your left and do a slow dance!” Hinata looked to his left slowly, quietly hoping that it was Nagito there and not someone random.

A shock of soft white hair met his vision, and he mentally fist-pumped in celebration. 

Nagito flushed a soft pink in the romantic light that covered the building, and Hinata internally let himself freak out a little bit at the soft look it gave him, sweeping a hand out towards Nagito with a soft smirk.  
“Well, shall we?” Nagito stared at him, the same rosy blush blooming stronger, before reaching out and slowly, hesitantly, putting his hand in Hinata’s. He gently laced their fingers together, slightly shorter tan against long, slender pale. The song playing was one he vaguely recognized, Perfect, he thinks?

They started swaying together, calm and peaceful with the music. A few steps to the side, a few back, and they had established a dance of sorts. Hinata looked down, down, deep into Nagito’s eyes, drinking in the sight of the teen. Slowly, the rest of the world drained away, and his vision tunneled in on the shorter teen. They twirled and danced together, never breaking their gaze. 

Briefly, Hinata wondered how they hadn’t bumped into anyone yet, but didn’t worry about it. 

The lyrics of the song petered off until all that was left was soft music playing, and their dance gradually slowed until they were just swaying in place again. Nagito swallowed, and Hinata’s eyes fell to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. Swallowing himself, he looked back up and into Nagito’s eyes. 

“Hajime…” His voice whispered into the calm brought his attention to Nagito, who was still flushed.

“Hm?” Nagito swallowed again, blush blazing red in the darkness. He mumbled a sentence, to which Hinata ducked down and got closer to his mouth.

“Can you repeat that?” He murmured right in Nagito’s ear, and he could only tell Nagito’s legs went weak when he felt a little more weight on his arms for him to support. That was the reaction he wanted. Drawing back and smirking, he waited for the response. 

“I-I think I want to kiss you…” Hinata’s world froze. It was him, Nagito, and the peaceful music. 

Swallowing again, he distantly wondered when his mouth had gone so dry. Nagito looked up into his eyes, hope bright in them. 

Hinata smiled, looking into Nagito’s eyes with his own eyes lidded.

“May I…?” Nagito blinked, before slowly nodding. Anticipation was clear in those beautiful eyes as he leaned forward, gently closing his own. 

Their first kiss was full of starbursts and fireworks, but soft and gentle at the same time. It sent poppers whizzing through Hinata’s system, but this was not something he wanted to rush. He was vaguely aware of hooting and cheering around him, but his entire world was Nagito. His pale arms slowly came up and wrapped around his neck, while Hinata’s own arms looped around his waist.

They broke apart when they needed to take a breath. Hinata gently pressed his forehead to Nagito’s, the two swaying again. Nagito laughed a little, breathless.  
“That was- that was…” He understood what he was trying to say. There were no words to describe what had happened.

So he leaned back down and pressed their lips together yet again, and the two danced in the dark, carried along by the cheering of their classmates and the quiet music playing in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall!  
> So, this chapter is easily the longest thing I've written in one sitting. Hey, go me!  
> If you enjoyed this story, remember to drop a kudos and leave a comment! If you want to read more by me, visit my account for a list of my stories!  
> Thank you so much for reading! See y'all around, you beautiful kiwis!

**Author's Note:**

> well  
> i did that  
> This is definitely one of the darker stories I've written, and at this point it might be the darkest. Im honestly both surprised and proud of myself bc of this  
> This story was beta-read by the lovely Alien_Goth_GF! Please go check her stories out and give her love!  
> Liked it? Hated it? Want to relieve yourself of the cliffhanger? Please comment and drop a Kudos, I love chatting w yall and seeing what you like!  
> My Instagram is kiwikat_writes, and my Pinterest is BroadwayFangirl- come yell at me over fanfics!  
> See yall next chapter, beautiful kiwis!


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